


Corrupted By The Darkness

by hirusen



Category: Split Desires (Original Work)
Genre: Alcohol, Blackouts, Blood and Gore, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Homophobic Language, M/M, Murder Victims Mentioned In News, Original Character(s), Personality Suppression, Possessive Behavior, Schizophrenia, Serial Killer, Supernatural Reflexes, Supernatural Speed and Strength, Unknown Murderer, Unusual Gentleness, Violence, split personality, supernatural senses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirusen/pseuds/hirusen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has no idea what's happening to him and a serial killer is at large; and targeting anyone he cares about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Normality Ends

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been watching videos of Darkiplier and Anisepticeye and was inspired to make a character who had a Split Personality. He thinks he has a different psychological disorder, but that slowly clears up and he realizes that he has something entirely different and far more dangerous for those close to him.

"So what the hell is it called again?" He chuckled softly as he leaned back in his chair, leveling his hazel eyes on his childhood friend. "Vryphaphthronel. I've been taking it ever since I was 6." "You mean that pill your mom made sure you took before you went to school?" He nodded. "Crap, John. I can't even take pills; how've you been taking that huge fucking pill?!" John shrugged, not going to deny that the pill was rather large; it was like he was swallowing the first knuckle of his pinky every time. "So what does it do?" "I don't know, actually. Mom never told me what it's suppose to do." "And you still take it?" His friend asked, concern in his voice. "I've tried to ask my doctor what it does, but he just pales a little and dodges the question. He always makes sure that I can get a refill of it whenever I'm out." "Even if you run out of it the same day?" "Yeah. Not sure why, but it's not like I really mind. It's just become a part of my routine at this point."

His friend huffed a laugh, shaking his head back and forth slowly. "I've gotta give you props, man. I don't think I would have made it for so long." They shared a warm fit of laughter before John's friend's pager went off. "Ah, shit. Well, I've gotta go. Thanks for the drink, John. See you next week." He waved to his retreating friend and once the door was closed he sighed. "Speaking of that damn pill..." O'Brien pushed himself up from the chair and headed toward his bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and was horrified. "No. No.  **NO!** Where is it?!" His prescription bottle was gone. He always put it in the same place; he had too, he'd forget to take his pill otherwise. Panicking, he destroyed his bathroom in search of the bottle and a rush of relief washed through his veins as he spotted it. "Thank God. Why the hell was it--Fuck!" Well, he found the bottle, but it was completely empty. "Was someone in my house?!  _FUCK!_ " He kept track of how many pills were left so he could order another batch when he was getting low; he had 17 pills in that bottle.  **Had**.

Frustrated, he chucked the bottle out of the bathroom and slammed his hands onto the sink, feeling as it almost cracked from the force.  _Damn it! I don't have much time left!_ He has to take that medication within a certain time frame, or its effects would begin to fade. Dashing to the front door, he quickly snatched up his wallet and keys and headed toward the local pharmacy.  _I can make it if I run. Can't take the car, or the bus; it'd been too late if I did._ Bystanders jumped out of his path as he barreled down the sidewalk, getting glared at along with the yelps of surprise and shouts of annoyance.

"Oh! John, I'm surprised to see you here. What do you need?" "I need another bottle of my medication." "What? But it's far too early for your refill. I don't see--" "It's gone! All of it's gone. I just found out this morning; maybe I was broken into when I was out, or it could have been an accident by one of my friends did and they just didn't want to tell me, but it's gone." The woman behind the counter paled; everyone who had given him his medication knew what it does, but they aren't allowed to tell him; doctor's orders. "I-I...I'll see if we have some in the back..!" She was in fear and panicking. Why?  _Is it really that dangerous for me to be without my medication?_ He watched as she quickly explained the situation to the others behind the counter and they too paled. In a rush they all began to search for the drug like it would stop the Apocalypse.

In defeat, the woman dragged her feet back to John. "I-I...I'm sorry, John. We don't have any here and it'll be at least a week before we can get you more." John glanced up at the clock on the wall and he, too, was in defeat and a state horror. "...Don't bother. It's already too late." "I'm so sorry, John. You have to leave." John nodded numbly and made his way back home, his boots scraping across the concrete with each step. He finally made it home, closing the door, and then fell against it, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor. He curled his legs up to his chest, arms wrapping around them as he buried his face into his kneecaps.  _...I'm sorry, mom. I...failed you._ He had promised her on her death bed, cancer taking a victory lap within her slowly before it crossed the finish line, that he would never miss taking his medication. And now he's broken that promise.

At 23 years of age, he's finally failed the one person he's always thought of as God in his eyes. Slowly standing to his full height, he made his way back to the bathroom and turned on the sink. He was already feeling the effects of withdrawal. As he splashed the icy water onto his face, he felt a strange heat lick its way down his spine, making him shiver. He glanced up and jumped. Reaching out and turning off the faucet, the silence was deafening as he stared at his reflection.

Only, it wasn't John.

The image had his face, yes, but his messy black hair was combed down, the bangs slightly in his eyes. And those were completely wrong. There was no white to his eyes; it was shaded black and his iris was blue and it looked like they were almost glowing. His lips were spread into a twisted smirk as he realized that his new eyes held the desire for murder in them. Carefully, he reached his hand out, long, slender fingers stretched out. His hand was trembling as he was centimeters away and he took a breath to try to steady himself. John's hand had barely made contacted when it shattered into a spiderweb. He flinched his hand away and has he continued gazing at the harsh contrast to himself, he noticed that his face and this other's had splintered into a mirror of each other, making a new image where they both shared the same identity and body.

John blinked and it was like nothing had happened. The reflection was of him, nothing out of place nor changed, and the mirror was perfectly fine. O'Brien sighed deeply.  _It's got to be stress. Maybe I should turn in for the night?_ It was his day off anyway. Might as well get some much needed rest. He moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, the lights on and dimmed to a low shine, just enough for the mood to be alluring for anyone walking into the room. Kicking off his boots and jeans, he made his way to his closet and opened the sliding door; he stripped out of his loose blue shirt and tossed it in the hamper, closing the door again and quickly climbing into his bed. He shivered a little as the cold sheets touched his skin. He let out a yawn after he got comfortable, the lights clicked off, and closed his eyes and felt as he drifted into a much easier sleep than he's ever had before. In his mind, he thought he heard someone chuckle and smile.

* * *

She screamed in horror as the man slowly started to close the distance between them, her eyes wide and stuck on the ax he held in his hands. "Oh, come now, Dorathy, don't scream. I just wanted to thank you." "F-For what?!" His lips cracked wide, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "You don't remember? Surely you can think of the kind act you did for me today?" Dorathy's face paled. "You...You can't mean..!" "Ah, she remembers!" He spoke with a cackle, his eyes hungry for what they were about to witness.

"No. I won't believe you. I can't believe you! J--" His hand slammed over her mouth, cutting her off. His eyes were cold and emotionless as they dug deep into the terrified woman's. "You should have kept your mouth shut, bitch. I would have just removed a hand, maybe part of your leg. Now? Now you get to visit a morgue instead of a hospital!" He spat in her face as he smashed the butt of the ax head into her leg, her agonizing yell muffled by his hand. He licked his lips as he watched the blood run down her flesh, gushing out as he viciously removed the pointed back from her limb. Her hands flew to the wound, her eyes leaking tears as she whimpered in pain. "Dorathy~!" He softly sung her name and she didn't want to look at him.

"You are not the child I know." "And I'm not. Sure, we have a...unique relationship, but he is a pretty one, isn't he?" He asked her as he knelt to level, tugging on her chin so she was forced to lock eyes with the man in front of her. "You are a demon." "A demon?" He thought about it, then smirked. "I like the sound of that." He stood and began circling her like a shark, waiting for the right moment for him to attack and let the fire ax sink its teeth into her again. He got it as she tried to escape, swinging the ax down hard on her outstretched arm and feeling as the sharpened blade easily severed it in half, more blood spraying out like a broken fountain and her scream seemed to echo off the buildings. "Such a lovely voice. I do wish I could make you sing more, but I think that someone might hear you next time, and I'm a greedy man."

"Just end it! Kill me already!" Dorathy begged, not wanting to part of this twisted man's games anymore. "Not just yet, Dorathy. I've got one more question for you." "What?" She was openly crying now, the throbbing pain becoming too much for her. "Do you want me to kill myself?" She was shocked. "You...would do that?" "Of course, if you wanted me to." His voice had changed from the toying harshness to an almost tender sound. "There's...a catch isn't there?" "Yes, there is." His eyes darted from his victim to the dirty ground, making it hard for Dorathy to gauge what he was thinking. "If I wanted you to kill yourself..?" She started, hoping to encourage the other to speak. His head whipped up at that, the expression he had greeted her with, wicked and murderous, was back on his face. "You'll be killing  **him** too! Do you want me to kill your precious little patent? You've certainly gotten to know **him** quite well over the years, haven't you?" Dorathy didn't think she could get any paler, but she did. "I'll spare your life," He began as he spun up, swinging the ax up to rest on his shoulder, "If you tell me that you want me to kill myself. Just know that  **his** death was your fault and you'll most likely be blamed for **his** murder." His voice has turned sickly sweet as his eyes held a knowing look in them, his lips spread into a playful smirk that was dipped in murderous glee.

"You fucking bastard! I could never trade my life for  **his**!" "Whoa! No need for such foul language, Dorathy. I'm being civil here. Still," He moved so that he was right beside her draining body and sharply brought down the ax with supernatural strength and speed, relishing in the sound of her neck and head separating from each other like a bad divorce. "You were a little predictable."

 


	2. The First One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't believe what he's seeing in the morning news. There's just no way this was happening...right?

The sunlight splashed against his eyelids gently, stirring him awake with a yawn and a half stretch.  _I've never been able to fall asleep so easy before. And I've never woken up this rested, either. Shouldn't I be having some pretty bad withdrawal symptoms by now?_ He wondered as he hazily made his way to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the water heat up. He glanced in the mirror and for a second he saw the black sclera's and glowing blue iris's from last night and then they were gone. Shaking his head, hoping that would clear out whatever fog had made that image appear again, he stepped into the shower and moaned as the water gently pounded on his skin.

Just as he was rinsing out his hair of conditioner, he heard a  _hello_  so faint he almost thought he had imagined it. Until it came again. "H-Hello? Is someone there?" He turned the water off and listened to the noises coming from his house. Silence.  _Did I really just imagined that? It really sounded like someone was speaking, though._ Maybe he was more exhausted than he originally thought. Shrugging it off, he went on with his morning routine without anything else happening. He flicked on the TV, which was always on the news, and listened to it as he made himself breakfast. When he lifted the cup of coffee to his lips, he heard something that made him nearly drop it; he almost slammed the cup back onto the counter and spun around, grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

_"That's right, Robert, the victim, 57 year old Dorathy Bell, was found this morning behind the pharmacy she was employed at by her supervisor. She was working late last night, alone, and it appeared that it was after she had locked up that she was attacked. Police are unsure what the motive is, as no money was stolen, though they have confirmed that she was killed by decapitation. The police are looking into any leads given to them at this current time and will keep 36 News updated as their investigation continues."_

He felt as the blood drained from his face and fingers. Dorathy was killed?  _What's going on?_ The ringing from the phone made him jump about a foot in the air, and he quickly answered it. "Hello?" _'_ _John, I'm sorry to tell you this over the phone, but...'_  It was his boss on the other end. "But?" _'_ _I'm going to have to let you go.'_  "What?!" Oh, come on! O'Brien was actually looking forward to work; it would keep his mind off the news.  _'It's not anything you did, John. Believe me, I want to keep you, but your whole department was cut and I couldn't find a slot in any of the others to put you in. I'm really sorry, John.'_  Said man sighed. "...Alright. Thank you for telling me before I got there. I hope everything's okay with the business; a cut that big is bad news." He heard his now ex-boss lightly chuckle on the other end.  _'I hope so too. Tell you what, for your last paycheck, I'll give you Henry's holiday pay and bonus? I know you two were in the same department, but I think that we can both agree that he was a crappy employee.'_  John laughed rather loudly at that. "No arguments here; he was a pain in the ass to even put up with. Nice to look at, but that's about it." John had told his boss in the interview that he was homosexual and that if he wasn't comfortable with hiring someone like him, then they could just end the interview there and there would be no backlash for the man or his company. His boss was appreciative of his honesty and went on with the interview. He always said that was the best decision he's ever made.

 _'Well, again, I'm very sorry for having to let you go, John, but I hope that you're day gets better from here, ok?'_  "Okay. You have a good day." The other hung up and John sighed slowly. It's not like he really needed a job; he's the only child of two billionaires and both left their fortunes behind for him, so money was no real issue. He wanted to have job so he knows what it's like to have actually worked for someone else. "I guess I'll hit up the gym then. Got nothing else planned anyway." He had won, by some luck other than his own, a lifetime membership to a rather high-end gym; he went there every day to stay in shape, to keep his skills sharp and body well trained. Grabbing his gym duffle, he threw in a spare set of clothes, got dressed in a wife-beater, loose shorts, and tennis shoes, grabbed his car keys and then drove to the gym.

John turned the radio off. Nearly every station was playing the morning news over and over again; it was something he was hoping to forget as he most likely destroyed another punching bag. His current tally was 5.

"Hey, you okay? You look a little pale, John." One of the regulars he's gotten close to over the past months asked as he strode into the locker room. "I wish I was ok. You saw the morning news?" "Did you know her?" "She was the one who always gave me the refills for my medication. We were pretty familiar with each other's lives after about 2 years." "I'm sorry, that's got be hard on you, John." He glanced to his friend, who was currently shirtless, and sighed. "Not as bad as getting fired over the phone by your boss because your entire department was cut." "Shit, man. This is just not your day." O'Brien laughed at that. "Well, here's hoping that wreaking another bag will help." His friend laughed with him, tenderly smacking his hand against his shoulder. "I'll be doing the usual if you wanna talk some more." "You could always come find me and watch. I wouldn't mind."

The brown haired man was a little surprised. "Normally, most guys want to be watched by women." "And who says I don't let them?" His friend eyed him questioningly. "You've never showed any interest in woman outside of helping them if they needed a spotter or if they wanted to hang out afterwards. Are you..?" His friend didn't finish his sentence. "If it's what you're thinking, then yes. Don't worry, while you are nice eye-candy, you're not my type. And I never brought it up because I didn't know how comfortable you were with the topic." He nodded to John, most likely evaluating him now that he knows. "Ah, fuck it. I might watch." He said with a shrug and a wide smile. John returned the smile and the two went about their workouts.

John was bouncing on the balls of his feet, holding a proper stance, and he threw his arms out in quick succession, feeling the thumps that sounded off the bag jolt up his arms each time. He wasn't wearing any gloves--never did anyway--only had boxing tape wrapped around his hands. He heard a soft whistle from his left and glanced over, a grin and laugh escaping his lips. "Losing that shirt does attract quite a few viewers, doesn't it?" John paused in his very methodical process of killing the bag in front of him and let his body suck in lungfuls of air, panting as sweat rolled down the plains and valleys of his chiseled chest. "Geez, John. You already have the body of a Greek God, do you really need to keep coming here?" He blushed a little at the compliment, but he still giggled. "I need to keep in shape, that's all. And did you just say that I've got the body of a Greek God? Now how if that's true, why haven't you been coming over here more often? I know you've seen me naked." That was an accident on both their parts, but it happened. "I didn't actually look then. Now...Well, I can clearly see why women fly toward you like honey and are purring in your presents."

John laughed, starting to unwind the tape from his hands when he heard  _jealous isn't he?_ and realized it was the same voice he heard when he was in the shower this morning. "John?" He glanced up and had to hold back his flinch; his friend was covered in blood and was missing his right leg from the kneecap down, his throat was slashed and his torso was ripped open, the organs and entrails slowly falling down and out from gravity. He blinked and the picture faded. "Yeah?" "I'm glad you're doing okay. It seems like everything that's happened so far is no longer on your mind." O'Brien handed the other a small smile, leaning down to grab his shirt. "I'm gonna head home." "Tired?" "Not really. Just need to finish a few things before I head out for the night." His friend tilted his head, curious. "Where you heading?" "Got a dinner date at The Rose." "Boyfriend?" John shook his head. "Nah, old friend. Haven't really had the time to talk so I offered." He saw something flash in the other's eyes but it vanished too quickly for John to identify it. "Well, I hope you have a good time, John. See you later." His friend left and that voice spoke again.  _see? jealousy. he's not really your friend._

 _What the fuck is happening?_ John would never have those kind of thoughts toward a friend of his; or anyone he cares about. What was going on with him? Was it because he was no longer taking the medication? Or was this his body's withdrawal symptoms?  _I don't know. I don't have time to worry about it, either. I need to get ready for my date._

Swallowing his nerves, John walked into The Rose. The Rose wasn't a fancy restaurant, still he wore a simple button-down and a pair of slacks; having no type or kind of dress shoes, he wore his boots as they were the only thing that sort of counted. "Hi, reservation for O'Brien." "Right this way, you're other party is already here." "Great." He gave the waitress a smile as he followed her to one of the window tables. In the very end of the row, he spotted his old friend and gave him a wave; he smiled back. "Hey, John! How've you been?" "I honestly could be doing better." "Uh-oh. Talk to me." His friend spoke and John explained everything, except the part about missing his pill and all the strange things that started to happen afterward. "Oh, John, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." O'Brien's lips spread into a sad smile. "Thanks. I hope that everything's just at the weird 'shit gets bad before the good happens' faze." The duo exchanged warm laughs, making the other diners nearby turn, but their expresses had smiles and warmth to them rather than annoyance. As the 23 year old expected, his friend had already ordered their meal, getting one of John's favorite dishes. "You know, if it wasn't for the fact that you're with someone I would date you. You know me so well."

His friend giggled at the remark. "Oh come on! It would feel like I was dating my brother; I'd feel weird." John pouted. "Don't make that face, I might kiss you." John faked a dramatic gasp. "And have Jessica become jealous of me for stealing you away? I could never do that, you tease." It was a familiar banter between the two, one that helped O'Brien take his mind off the day. "Hey, thanks again for taking me to dinner, John. It was nice to catch up before Jess and I moved overseas." "Still can't believe that you both got that job over in Germany. Wasn't it a rather demanded bid?" "Very. I'm not sure what luck we banked, but we aren't complaining." John chuckled. "For now. Even if they are in spring, it's still rather freezing." "Did your research, did you?" John shrugged. "Just don't want a call from Jessica's folks saying that you both froze to death."

His friend smacked his arm playfully. "So...you need a ride home or..?" "Nah. There's bar nearby that I wanted to check out." "You mean Illusions? It's a nice one. I recommend having their Night Fallen; it's a little bitter, but I know you'll like it." John smiled. "Thanks. And you need to find that ring soon, man. Jessica's only gonna wait for so long before giving up on you!" "Oh you little..! Come're!" His friend grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him forward, getting him in a headlock and musing John's hair. "Stop it! Stop! Heh, I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" His friend released him and wrapped his arm around O'Brien's neck. "You keep your chin up, John." "I will. Good night." They parted ways.

"Here you are, sir." The waiter placed the martini glass down on the cardboard holder and John thanked him. The Night Fallen was a swirled mix of blue and silver, black flecks dashed about inside the liquid. Taking a sip of the cocktail, John's face screwed up slightly from the sharp bitterness, but it faded as the sweetness overtook it. Mentally, John smiled. His friend always knew he had a bit of a weakness for sweet drinks, alcoholic or not. He was on his third, getting a slight buzz going, when he heard a known voice spring up from the booth behind him.

"Really?" "Yeah. I thought it might be a good idea to let one of you lovely ladies meet him, maybe get the poor guy laid. I just thought that none of the women in the gym were his type, didn't realize he was a fag." John's heart stopped. "What? He's gay?" "I know, right? Damn faggot said that I wasn't his type, but I know that he doesn't care. He just wants to be with any guy who's up for it. Sick fuck." O'Brien felt his eyes become wet as he heard the cruel words from someone he considered a friend. "How'd you find out?" "He told me that I could go over and watch  _him_ workout if I wanted. Though, I should've figured that he wasn't interested in pussy when he always rejected any offer the woman gave him." He heard the other laugh. "The only good thing is that he's been fired from his job and one of his friends was found killed..!" There was a clatter and a slap echo softly over the music. It came from behind John. "Don't you say that! I don't really care if his gay or not, you don't say that it's a good thing that one of his friends was killed!" "No, babe, I only--wait!" She got up from the table and stormed to the bathrooms; John followed her.

She was in the last stall, crying softly. O'Brien walked over to the stall and gently knocked on it. "Leave me alone! I don't want to talk to you!" Her voice was a little hoarse, most likely holding back more than she was letting out. "Miss? I over heard your conversation." She sucked in a breath. "J-Just ignore that idiot he--" "He's wrong. I know. I just wanted to thank you." "For what..?" She was calming down a little bit. "For defending me. You didn't have to do that." "...You're John O'Brien?" She asked. "Yes. You guys are in the booth behind me." She was quiet for a little bit before she sniffed and asked, "Does he know that you're here?" "No. And I would appreciate it if you didn't tell him." "But, he--" "He's entitled to his opinions, no matter how wrong they are." "...You know, with how he was describing you, he made it seem like you were a horrible man; vain and uncaring, wanting attention like a child. But I can see now that you're none of that. In fact, you're more mature than he is." John laughed gently. "I appreciate the kind words, Ma'am. I hope you're evening gets better from here, okay?" "...Okay. Thanks for talking to me, John. I promise that I won't mention any of this to him." "Thank you. Good night."

O'Brien sighed deeply as he shed his boots and shirt, removing the belt from his slacks. The tears he had been holding back all night since he's heard those words spilled out and down his cheeks. He felt sick. Betrayed. John plopped down onto his bed and curled into a ball, weeping uncontrollably at this point; he's not a very sensitive guy, but words like the ones he overheard hit him hard. Ever since he was a teen and realized that he was attracted to men, he's kept quiet about it. Any time someone found out, they teased and bullied him relentlessly, spreading hurtful rumors and other nonsense. He lost a lot of his friends because he was gay; the ones who helped him though it, who didn't care whether he liked men or not, are the only friends he has left now.

 _don't you worry your pretty little head. everything will fine._ There was that voice again. It wasn't has mocking as it was the last two times the heard it, the first time that morning it sounded almost playful. Now it was gentle, soothing almost. "How do you know?"  _i just do. you don't trust me?_ "No, I don't. I don't even know who or what you are..!"  _God, I'm talking to an imaginary voice._  He felt the voice chuckle in his head.  _just go to sleep, little one. everything will be alright. you'll see._ John felt all of the events of that evening slam into his body like a train, exhaustion draining his strength and energy. "Alright. You win this one." O'Brien closed his eyes and felt that smile from last night creep back though his mind once more and he drifted into tender darkness.

* * *

The trio stumbled out of the back door of Illusions, a couple of moans escaping from the group. Well, more like the buzzed women as they were forced to try and hold up the very drunk man they came with. "Damn it, Felix! You just had to get wasted again, didn't you?!" One of the woman yelled at him and he groaned. "Ah, shut up, Becky! God, you're so annoying; don't even know why I brought you." "Perhaps you brought her with you because you were hoping she would get drunk so you could have sex with her, with her consent or not." A voice rang out and the trio looked in front of them, a hooded man was standing just out of the light, but Becky recognized the voice. "I remember you. We talked in the bathroom." A white smile shined in the shadows before the man walked forward, the lower half of his face visible. "I hoped **he** was able to help you out." "Wait...aren't you J--" He raised is hand to stop her. "No. Sorry if you thought I was **him** , but I'm not. I'm a...close friend of **his**."

Felix squinted his eyes, his brown hair falling into them. "The fuck you want, punk?" "I need to talk to you, Felix. Alone." He added as his eyes glanced up to the women, though they couldn't see it. "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you, buddy. I ain't going nowhere!" The hooded man sighed, walked closer and took Felix out of the hold of the women. "You two ladies should call a cab and head home. I'll make sure Felix gets back home." The other girl looked hesitant, but Becky took her hand. "Thank you. I hope he's doing ok." The other smiled warmly to her. " **He** 's going just fine. Head home like a good girl, okay?" Becky smiled back, not noticing the malice that was laced in the other man's smile, and walked out of the alley to the street, dragging her friend along with her.

Once they were out of sight, Felix was flung hard against the other building, letting out a pained yelp and groaning as he rolled slightly once he hit the ground. "Now, I don't know where you get off on making fun of gays, but making fun of  **him** ," He started as he turned to Felix, brandishing a tire-iron he grabbed earlier, "was a very big mistake." He growled as he ripped off the hood that covered his face, grinning in delight as he saw Felix's face pale in shock and horror. "Your eyes! Oh my God, what the fuck are you?!" "According to Dorathy, I'm a demon." Felix's skin got paler, and a cold sweat started to form on his forehead and neck; he listened as both his breathing and heartbeat skyrocketed. "Ha, such a lovely sound." "W-What is?" The other instantly regretted that because a second later the tire-iron was brought down on his leg, both of them hearing as there was a sickening snap of his bones and a scream of agony ripped through Felix's throat.

"That! Oh, such a lovely sound. You don't sound as pretty as Dorathy, but you aren't the only one I'm seeing tonight, so there's hope for a good song yet!" The glee from the other was making Felix panic. Then he noticed the other's face. "Wait a minute. No...It can't be..! J--" The other smashed the iron into the same spot again to cut his victim off. "As I told Becky, I'm not  **him**. Yes, there's somethings we share, but I'm not the one you were going to name." He knelt the other's eye-level, grabbing his chin and forcing Felix to look at him. "You see, I'm very aware of everything  **he** experiences, sees, and feels. I know if someone hurts or upsets  **him**. Don't get me wrong, I plan on wreaking **his** life!" He said with a chuckle, standing up. "But..." He dropped both his head and his eyes to Felix, who flinched. "I don't appreciate people like you. A user, an abuser; making a friendly face before stabbing that person in the back, behind their back." He shook his head. "That's just low. Petty. Pathetic." He used the end of the tire-iron to lift Felix's head, enjoying the fear in his body and eyes. "People like you, if you hurt  **him** , don't get to live."

Felix tried to grab the weapon, but was stunned when the psychopath in front of him was suddenly leaning against the other wall in an instant, arms folded. "If you want to run, now's you're chance." A shrug was accompanied by the comment and Felix attempted to scramble away to the mouth of the alley, trying to get on the street. He got half way before something roughly grabbed his shattered leg and yanked him back, making pain shoot up his nerves and a howl rip itself from his vocal cords. A moment later, his neck was snapped by the force of the tire-iron hitting it, but the man above him didn't stop swinging; he only stopped when his neck was nearly in two pieces and his skull looked like a smashed in watermelon. He looked at the bloody iron boredom and tossed it next to his victim. It didn't even belong to **him** and it was used for an entirely different car model than the one **he** drove. "Next..."

The sudden late night knock on the door surprised the two men inside of the house. Neither was expecting anyone and Jessica wasn't going to be back for another hour. "Can I...Oh!" The man who opened the door was surprised, but he still smiled to the hooded man. "Hey, what are you doing here, J--" The hooded figure pressed a finger to the other man's lips, silencing him. "I need to talk to you. Can I come in?" "Yeah. Yeah, come in." The duo walked into the living room, the other man looked up, concern on his face. "Hey, is everything alright?" He shook his head. "I...I just killed someone." "What?! What's going on, J--" The hooded man's hand covered the other's man's mouth as he pulled his hood down and let both men see his face as the power cut out. "I'm not  **him** , boys." He spoke as a murderous smile gleamed in the dim moonlight, his blue eyes glowing. "And that murder? Heh, I'm just getting started."

Jessica had just pulled up to the house when she noticed that something was wrong. All the lights in the house were out and Phil would never do that when he knows she's out. Hesitantly, she climbed out of her car and walked to the front door, a chill running down her spine when she saw it was open. "Phil? Greg? You in here?" She called out for the men but neither one answered her. She slowly made her way to the living room and what she witnessed made her scream bloody murder. And that it was. The white carpet was stained wine red, two bodies in the middle of the pools, both were cut to ribbons. What had killed them was the large, long gashes on the backs that followed their spines, which were slightly protruding from their skin, almost like someone tried to rip them out. "Oh my God! Phil! Greg! No, no! Oh my Go--" Her hand came to her mouth, either in complete disbelief or to try and hold in the contents of her stomach. After a moment she heard something moving behind her. "Jessica?" It was a voice she knew. "Are you alright? What happened here, J--" Jessica cut herself off as her eyes saw the other man's; they were black with iris's that were glowing and blue. She wailed again, and a wicked smirk played onto the other man's mouth. "Such a beautiful voice, Jessica." "Wh-Who..?" "You don't know me; I wouldn't expect you to. But I know all about you."

"What you talking about?!" "How you and Phil had lied to  **him** after **he** was nearly hospitalize," She froze at his words, "saying that you both told the school security what happened and that they had the boys who had jumped  **him**  thrown out of the school. We both know that they just happened to get caught with their weapons and were expelled. And Greg? Well, he had been stealing drugs from  **his** medicine cabinet and, on occasion, stole money from  **him**. Though he should be thankful that he had skipped over a certain one in the medicine cabinet; it has a rather nasty side-effect for those it's not meant for." Jessica felt cold and hadn't noticed that she was crying until the man in front of her knelt down and cupped her cheek, making her jump from fear. "Sh. Sh. Shh. It's alright, Jessica. No need to be afraid." He brushed aside her long, blond locks from her face gently; that's when Jessica saw that he was holding a machete. A blood-dripping machete. "I'll make your death quick. Can't guarantee it'll be painless, but will be quick." He spoke as he stood up, Jessica's jaw held in his hand to keep her neck exposed. "You should be thankful that I'm being merciful, Jessica. It's not something I usually know the concept of." "Then why me..? Why me?!" She demanded. The other tilted his head a little, thinking. "I'm not sure. Maybe because you're a woman and I should be kinder to you." He chuckled. "Then again, I wasn't very kind to Dorathy, was I?" Before she could reply or scream, he swung and felt the blade jerk through her flesh, hearing as her body fell back with a thump. Lifting his hand, he gazed into her permanently terrified eyes. "You were a pretty thing, too. Oh well." He tossed the severed head like it was a piece of trash, stabbing the machete through the wood coffee table and stretched. "Only one guest left for this party."

He was just finishing up the last of the paperwork when his pager went off. He cursed softly, grabbing the blasted thing and reading the message that popped on the little screen. There was a break-in in the department that was just cut. "Great." Most likely Henry, trying to make his life even harder than it was. He made his way to the most dangerous department, what with all the barely balanced equipment and other hazards. How there hadn't been an accident there, Edward never knew. What he did know was that he didn't like the sound of the conveyor belts running and some of their limb crushing and severing equipment was activated. "Henry? You in here? Look if it's about firing you, it's not my fault!" "Oh, but it is, Edward." A man called from over the high pitched whines and screeches of the machines. He turned and was greeted by a man in a hoodie. "What are you talking about? Who are you?" "Well, certainly not him." The stranger said as he gestured with his chin to the belt to his right. On it, he saw something that made him loose his dinner; it was Henry, his entire body pancaked by one of the compactors. "Wasn't hard to convince him to help me break in; unfortunately, he slipped." The nonchalant way this man said the last part made Edward think that Henry was pushed.

"...What did you mean, when you said that this whole department getting cut was my fault?" "Edward, have you ever sought help for your gambling problem? Or had you already bet your company away and cutting this department was they only way you could keep it? Could it be that the Misses likes to spend more money than you have? Or perhaps, you're both spending the company's money and when you couldn't keep up with certain quotas you had cut your losses in departments that weren't making the money you needed to stay afloat?" A wicked grin was slowly spreading the other's mouth with each question asked. "Am I getting close?" Edward's face was shining with sweat. "Ah, I'm right, aren't I? You can't control yourself when it comes to money, can you?" "Who the hell are you?!" The stranger laughed. "Why should I tell you? Gonna call the cops with the phone that for one, has no service, and for two, you left in your office?" Edward cursed loudly and colorfully. "Nice one. I might use that sometime." "Do you want money? Drugs? What?" "What I want," He spoke as he walked passed Edward, stopping just a foot behind him, "is for you to accept your award for failing your company." Edward felt something crack against his skull before he blackout.

When he regained consciousness, he realized he was strapped onto one of the conveyor belts and that it was slowly heading to one of the machines.  _'Ah! Glad to see you've joined us again, Edward!'_ A voice spoke over the loud-speaker and Edward could see the same man up in the control booth, his hood still up. "You gonna kill me?!" There was a dark chuckle then,  _'That's the plan.'_ Edward struggled against the bindings that held him as he heard the faint, but growing, sound of a saw. He looked down his body and saw the giant buzz saw moving up in down, its teeth sharp and uncaring for whatever got in its path; which was going to be Edward's legs in a few minutes. "Please stop! You don't have to do this!"  _'You're right. I don't have to do this. Then again, I don't have to listen to you, either.'_ That voice was one he's heard before, but he can't put a name to it. He was struggling even more as he was with in feet of the spinning blade, then inches, and then, " **ARGH!** " The first thing to be removed was his feet, just a little above the ankle, then it slowly started to cut up his legs into pieces every three inches. Just before it reached his groin, the machine powered down and the saw sluggishly slowed down.

Edward gasped in relief, his body relaxing as much as it could with the agony clawing through his body, before he felt the belt vibrate and realized that he was about become what Henry was. The compactor slammed down over and over, jolting the belt and Edward each time. "Please, spare me! I'll change, I swear!"  _'How about...no?'_ The older man roared in fury before it turned into fear as he watched his body slide under the waiting embrace of the compactor and then howled as pure, hot pain ripped through him, his stomach and below were now thin enough that you could slip that section of him under a door. He traveled under the rest of the compactor without it going off again, but he quickly remembered that he had two kind of compactors on this belt; the one he had lived through was the vertical one, which meant... "Oh God...Spare me, please! I'm begging you! Don't do this! You don't have to be a killer!" The man in the control booth laughed wickedly, a cold smirk on his lips.  _'Oh, but you see, Edward. A killer is a title given to someone who's only killed once, perhaps twice. Me? Well, you'll be victim number six tonight; seven in total.'_ The hooded figure grinned gleefully.  _'I'm a not a killer; I'm a murderer.'_

Edward didn't think he had this much blood in him if he felt he lost more after hearing that. The crashing down to the horizontal compactor slamming together threw him from his thoughts as a cold sweat ran down what was left of his body.  _'In case you were wondering, having your body crushed like it was earlier pinched off your veins and arteries; your blood's still pumping though you as it did before you...changed. Though I do imagine that once your skull paints those lovely metal panels your heading for, I'm sure that won't even matter.'_ The noise was getting louder and as he saw his doom slowly reach him, Edward seemed to stop struggling. "You'll never get away with this! The police will catch you!"  _'If you think so, then I wish them the best of luck.'_ Edward was stunned by how cocky this man was.  _'Oh, by the way, Edward,'_ The older man looked up just as his body was sliding in between the stainless steel death trap waiting to crush him and saw as the other removed his hood, revealing black eyes with shining blue iris's and a face he knows all too well,  _'You're fired.'_ It was the last thing he heard as the metal snapped its mouth closed and the other turned everything off, seeing the running red stain on the last compactor's cold metal surface. "No one will escape me, will they?" He said to the air, a twisted smirk on his lips and satisfaction in his eyes.


	3. Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's completely horrified by what he seeing in the morning news, but that voice seems to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure, but I may be introducing a couple people who will live for a few chapters in this one; they may only being living past this one anyway, but they live.
> 
> Also, this is the one where John gets diagnosed with Schizophrenia; now slight plot reveal, John doesn't actually have this, but it will seem like he does for the next few chapters.

O'Brien awoke with a jolt, the remnants of some dream vanishing from his mind. He groaned and fell back onto his pillow.  _Damn it. This really must be what my body's withdrawal symptoms are._ He knows not everyone has the exact same symptoms, but there usually are pretty similar ones that people share. And he's pretty sure that any of his are not part of that list. Throwing the sheets off him, he did his usual morning routine; or as normal as it was starting to get. Again, when he glanced in the mirror that morning, those glowing blue eyes nearly engulfed by black were looking back at him. Blinking the image away, he stepped into the shower, hoping that the hot water would calm his nerves. He was rinsing out his hair when he looked down his body and saw that he was covered in blood as it swirled around the drain. John let out a yelp as he jumped back, checking himself for some sudden injury, but noticed that all the blood vanished when he blinked.  _Holy fuck...What was that?_ After seeing that, John didn't have much of an apatite, so he just made coffee. _Maybe they found a lead on who killed Dorathy._ He thought as he turned on the news.

Only to have what little he had in his stomach to almost be thrown up.

_"That's correct, Jesse. Police have confirmed that 6 victims were murdered last night in what they now believe to be a killing spree. They were not willing to answer 36 News's questions at the time, but they did inform us that they are pulling every resource to identify the murderers. The victims, 28 year old Felix McSaine; 30 year old Phil Gane; 29 year old Greg Tao; 29 year old Jessica Fair; 34 year old Henry Joe; and 39 year old Edward Arc were found by family, employees, and strangers early this morning. The police has given 36 News no details on how the victims were killed, and while they have said that no two victims were killed in the same way, they believe that this is the work of serial killers on the loose. 36 News will be reporting new details as they emerge."_

John barely managed to keep himself up, his whole body violently shaking.  _Is this for real?_ He carefully sat himself down, a cold sweat starting to run down his brow and neck.  _see? i told you everything would be alright._ That voice from last night sprang up, tone gleeful. "This isn't alright! My friends are being killed!"  _or hunted. maybe someone's looking for you?_ The idea hadn't crossed his mind until now.  _Fuck. That voice might be right._ But who would systematically go through his closest friends and co-workers in order to get to him? John groaned as his head throbbed in pain; thinking about all of this is just too much right now. Emptying his mug of the last bitter drops of coffee, John placed it in the sink and glanced at his calendar.  _Oh right. I've got an appointment today._

His mother had made him go to a psychiatrist ever since he was a kid; back then it was only once a year, but as he got older, it became more frequent. He remembers asking his mother why he needed to go, but she never said, and she wasn't the type of woman to by tight-lipped about something unless she thought she had to for someone's protection.  _But why would she be protecting me by keeping quiet about the reason?_ There was so many things he didn't have a chance to ask her before she died.

"Good morning, John. How are you today?" "Could be better, honestly." The man who he had been seeing since he was 7--his first one retired rather quickly after their first session--frowned slightly at that. "What could be better?" O'Brien sighed as he pressed his back firmly into the chair. "Did you see the morning news?" He nodded. "I knew every single one of them; Dorathy too." "I can see why that would be upsetting. Has anything else happened recently?" John nodded his head with a swallow. "I...Something happened to my medication two days ago and I missed." The other's eyes widen, slight fear in them. "...And how have you felt?" "Okay, surprisingly. But, strange things keep happening." "Like?" "I've been seeing things and hearing a voice."

"What as this voice said to you?" "It told me yesterday that Felix was jealous of me, that he didn't really care about me. It also said yesterday that everything was going to be fine." His psychiatrist raised a brow. "It said that what was going to be alright?" John sighed. "Me. I went to a bar that night and over-heard Felix talking about me; none of it good. I was very upset by his words, but the voice tried to...comfort me, I guess." The other man nodded. "And what about the things you've been seeing?" "I...I've seen images of death. I saw Felix covered in blood, his right leg missing from the kneecap down, his throat slashed and his chest ripped open, everything inside slowly falling out. This morning in the shower, I was drenched in blood, all of it running down my body like it was actually on me and I was washing it off." The other looked very worried. "Have you seen anything else?" "...No." John made it seem like he was thinking about it, but he was really just covering for the fact that he had, he just didn't want to mention it. "With the medication you had been taking, your doctor had told me that it is possible for you to develop mental issues like the ones you've described." "These aren't part of my withdrawal symptoms?" "They may be," His psychiatrist told him, "but you may have developed Schizophrenia as a side effect of you no longer taking your prescription."

John looked as nervous as the other man must have felt based on his expression. "Is there anything we can do?" "If your condition gets worse, yes. For now, it's best to just keep an eye on your visions and the conversations you have with the voice. If they become more frequent or get worse, then there are treatment options I'll look into to help deal with it, ok?" O'Brien sighed again. "Okay. I really wish I knew what was going on with everything that's been happening." The other man smiled warmly to John. "I'm sure the police will find who's doing this. Besides, it said in the paper that this is your lucky week; maybe you'll find yourself someone who understands what you're going through and be there for you." John finally laughed. "A horoscope reading? Really?" The other shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to have a little good to look forward to, would it?" "Well...I guess believing that things will get better might keep my mind off things for a bit." The other grinned. "...I'll schedule you in for the first week next month, alright?" "Sounds great." They shook hands and John left.

O'Brien let out a soft moan was he took a sip of his latté, one of his newer books resting in his lap. He wasn't one for anything outside of black coffee, but he had craved something a little sweeter so he went to his favorite little coffee shop. He liked the mellow atmosphere of the little joint, never too busy since very few people knew about it, and it was always a good place to try and shrink his growing stack of books he had back home. "Excuse me." A voice softly popped up, making John glance up to see who it was. And by God, that man was handsome; tall, beautifully tan skin, and a voice like butter. "Do you mind if I join you?" "Not at all." John said as he gestured to the empty chair, his eyes never leaving the other's form. "That a good read?" "So far, yeah. I'm John, by the way." He introduced as he extended his hand; the other man coiled his long fingers around John's hand, a bright grin on his lips. "Mark Gaius." Mark replied, and John had to control himself; a man as handsome as Mark, with a voice like that? Totally his type.

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you here before, Mark. I come here pretty often." "I recently moved into the area. Glad I found out about this little café; not a big fan of some of the more traveled ones." John chuckled softly under his breath. "How recently?" "Only been here, oh...five months?" "And how do like it?" Mark smiled warmly. "I don't like it, I love it. So glad I made the choice to move." John grinned at the sheer joy on Mark's face. He felt as that voice giggled at how enthused the other was, but he didn't take it as a bad sign.  _Maybe things are looking up for me._ Nearly every time he's heard that voice, it was cold or condescending; any other time it tried to offer advice or comfort. The fact that it's enjoying Mark's joy just as much as John himself must mean that nothing bad is going to happen to him...right?

They conversed for a half hour, Mark having to leave when he recieved a call from his friend; John went home not long after, wanting to make himself dinner and get to bed a little sooner than he usually does. So the knock on his door around 7 caught him off guard. "Oh, hey." He sighed as he saw a friend he was hoping would get out of his life. "What, that's it?" John groaned. "What do you want now?" "Can't believe after all this time, you still treat me like I'm annoying you!"  _That's because you do! Fucking moron..._ "Listen, I need a favor." "Which is?" The other man tried to push his way into John's home, but the other's muscled and trained body made it very hard for him to even try, let alone succeed. "I'm a little short on cash and I was hoping you could spare $40?" "$40?! You know what? No. Fuck you and get the hell away from me and my house." The other male narrowed his eyes. "...What?" "I'm not your damn bank and I'm not your cash cow; leave or I'm calling the cops." The other growled, but moved away from John and toward his car. "I'll be back after you change your attitude, John." In retaliation, John slammed his front door shut, practically in the other's face.

"Goddamnit! I really hate that fucker..!" O'Brien yelled, his clenched fist thrusted against the wooden door he closed.  _a mooch and a bad friend? how'd he get in your life?_ "Knew him back in middle school. He wasn't like this back then, but he got caught up in some...unfortunate things." The voice hummed softly.  _can't you do something about him?_ "Like what? I've done everything I can." That voice sighed, like he too was frustrated with the situation.  _...you like Mark, don't you?_ John blushed madly.  _ha! knew it!_ "S-Shut up!" The voice chuckled for a few moments before settling down.  _well, i don't mind him._ "...Glad to know a voice in my head slightly approves of the man I have a crush on."  _I really wish there was something I could do about that voice._ It didn't annoy or worry him--entirely--per say, it was just making him worried for his friends. Every time he's seen that image of him with the glowing blue eyes or hear this voice, someone he knows gets killed. John let out a soft moan as he stretched, a few places in his lower back cracking sweetly. He went to his room and stripped; it had been a rather warm day today and he had forgotten to close his blinds, so his whole room just baked in the sun all day and the ceiling fan only did so much to cool it down. Getting relaxed and settled, O'Brien let out an easy breath and slipped into a dreamless sleep; that smile and laugh he had expected to feel and hear in his mind was absent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's a rather short chapter, I know.
> 
> Also my newest character, Mark, as the same voice and laugh as Markiplier (and if you don't know who that is, go to YouTube and type the name in); it's the only thing the two share, I promise. I just wanted to tell you guys this because, while you have an idea of what John, the killer/murderer, and the 'voice' sounds like, along with the other people I've created just to kill off as quickly as they appeared, I have a defined voice for Mark. This way, since you know what he sounds like, you can 'hear' his words like I hear them.


End file.
